


No Fair Fight

by Evenmoor



Series: Methos, Master of the Force [4]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Canon Compliant, Clone Wars, Methos is Not Nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 08:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14421009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/pseuds/Evenmoor
Summary: While Generals Kenobi and Skywalker deal with the bulk of the forces leading the ground attack on Christophsis, Methos and his men infiltrate the area from the rear. It's the Century's first combat mission in the field, and they're determined to do what they can to help their brothers. If that means taking out thousands of droids forming the Separatist rear guard with only fifty troopers, so be it. They'd just have to be creative.





	No Fair Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyberbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberbutterfly/gifts).



"You sure this is a good idea, walking out in the open like this?" Sever asked in an undertone. It wasn't that he didn't trust Master Methos. Quite the opposite. But this sort of blatant, in-full-view parade march down the center of the street definitely ran contrary to every bit of training they'd had after Methos took them from Kamino.

"The Separatist forces here aren’t exactly playing it subtle, even for a droid army. We’d hear them coming long before they got here. I'm rather more concerned about the troopers who shot down Ochi's recon drone. If we attempt to make a surreptitious approach ourselves at this point, they'd probably start firing on principle if they even got a glimpse of us. While I wouldn't blame them, getting shot by our own men would hardly improve our day. I know it seems counter-intuitive, but at the moment, those two dozen men are a bigger threat to us than the thousands of droids a mile away."

It made some sort of sense, Sever admitted. Those troopers were cut off from the bulk of the GAR forces, vastly outnumbered and without any reasonable hope of rescue. They'd probably be firing at anything that moved. If, on the other hand, the Century approached openly, it might give the other troopers enough pause to realize that they were friendlies, _brothers_.

Sever noticed, though, that Master Methos's hand was ready for the lightsaber hidden in his sleeve just above the wrist. Just in case someone felt trigger-happy. Silently, he cursed the Seppie jammers; it would've been much easier to simply tell the other troopers they were here. On the other hand, their presence wasn't exactly supposed to be advertised, either.

The Century wouldn't show up on the GAR heads-up displays in their helmets, even without the jammers and the Seppies' habit of messing with the IFF signals for normal troopers. Not that the Century was normal, in any event. Not their gear, not their training, not their Jedi.

So, yes, marching down a street in the middle(ish) of a war zone made Sever a bit nervous.

Abruptly, Methos signaled them to stop. He had that vaguely distant expression that Sever had learned to recognize. So, they were close and he could sense the other troopers.

“Alright, boys, buckets off,” Sever ordered the others. “Let’s show ‘em we’re friendlies.”

It was a very long minute or so as they simply loitered in the street, helmets in their hands and blasters loose. Hotspot looked antsy, but he was always that way. Cabur and Rime might as well have been carved from stone, despite their nerves. Rue tapped his fingers on his helmet anxiously, while Ochi managed somehow to appear completely comfortable. Sever suspected he was just as nervous as the rest of them, just much better at hiding it. This wasn’t the Century’s first mission in the field, but it was definitely the first time they faced the threat of actual combat.

“Well, if they decide to shoot us anyway, at least Thing 1 and Thing 2’ll have the ‘I told you so’ privileges,” Gimbal remarked blandly, adjusting the heavy medical pack he carried. Of all of them, he was the least armored; despite that, he was certainly the best protected, courtesy of the salvaged droideka shield Gaffer had somehow repaired and retrofitted. The thing sucked power cells like water, but made field medicine a lot less chancy for both Gimbal and his patients. That didn’t stop Gaffer from hovering protectively next to him, though.

“Come on, Gimbal, they wouldn’t dare shoot us.” Ochi grinned broadly, though Sever noted that his eyes kept scanning the area. “It’d ruin the Centurion’s brilliant strategy, and they’d never hear the end of it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Next mission, you get to run solo and come up with the brilliant strategies!” Methos smirked at Ochi’s expression of mock-dismay before glancing upwards. “Heads up.”

Sever caught a flicker of movement in a darkened window, an indistinct pale form half-hidden by the shadows inside.

“You got three seconds to identify yourselves before we start shooting!” called a familiar voice, a brother’s voice.

They had found the troopers, it seemed.

“We’re your reinforcements!” Methos called back.

“Where’d you come from?” demanded the trooper before Methos could explain anything further. “There weren’t any other battalions in the area! And you’re not in uniform, either! How do we know you’re not part of some kind of Seppie trick?!”

“Look at our faces, soldier! We’re clones, just like you!” Sever took a step forward, turning his face up towards where he knew the trooper was hidden. “My name’s Sever, and we’re the 6-8, Century--”

“You’re the Century?” There was a brief, almost incredulous pause. “You don’t even look old enough to be in the field, let alone command a company! And the Century’s just a story to tell the shinies fresh from Kamino! A myth!”

“We’re real enough. Got a real Jedi, too. Now how about you lower your weapons before you not-so-mythically shoot us?” Sever asked pointedly.

 

* * *

 

Twenty-four men. That’s how many the recon drone spotted. What it hadn’t told them was how bad off they were. As they entered the makeshift hideout, they found themselves the targets of painful expressions of mixed disbelief, hope, and relief, even before Methos, Gimbal, and Rue broke out the medical supplies.

They were from the 501st, as it turned out, and seemed mollified (more or less) when they realized that while Sever might be young, especially for a clone commander, he was accompanied by both older troopers who respected him and a genuine Jedi. Though perhaps in their current condition, they’d rather not argue with assistance, whatever the form it came in.

The troopers weren’t quite a shambles, but definitely close to it. Two dozen men, Master Methos had said, and he’d been right, though most of them were injured to one degree or another, and two of them would’ve almost certainly died without immediate treatment. He and Gimbal took these two, while Rue checked on the wounds of the other men.

Then there were the six bodies laid out off to the side, too.

It was the first time Sever and Snitch performed the Mandalorian Death Rites for their brothers in the field. Neither of them stumbled over the words, even as the troopers from the 501st gave them curious glances. Well, the ones that weren’t too busy dealing with their own injuries, or staring at Sever, Methos, and the others like they were ghosts.

How the Century had reached mythic status amongst the clones so quickly was no real mystery to Sever; after all, Methos had hand-picked every man in the unit on Kamino, and then they all just left one day. Snitch had actually kept up with the rumor mill about the Century, which provided a measure of entertainment during their precious few personal hours in the training hell that followed.

“Never engage in a fair fight if at all possible” might be Methos's personal motto, followed closely by “If you must fight, fight to win,” supplemented by “If you can’t win, survive -- grow stronger and fight another day.”

Kark, half the Century still hadn’t finished their training, leaving only fifty-three men for this little jaunt to Christophsis. With Apex, Flight and the others left back at the ship, they only numbered _forty-_ three. It’d been the right choice, leaving Apex behind -- there wasn’t any clone Sever would trust more to guard the ship if it was attacked -- but at this moment Sever wished for every gun he could have.

Even with the added manpower of the three squads from the 501st, they could only boast a bare sixty-five able to fight; and they were still cut off from the rest of the GAR forces, with thousands of battle droids in between.

Now was no time for a fair fight.

“Gimbal, you take these two on the speeder back to the ship, and send Thing 1 and Thing 2 back,” Methos ordered as he stood up from treating the two worst injured troopers. “They’re perfect for what I have in mind, and they might light me on fire if they missed it. Plus, we’ll need a few things from the ship.”

Oh, yes. _That_ expression Sever knew all too well. This was _definitely_ not going to be a fair fight.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before the speeder returned, Thing 1 and Thing 2 for once in full clone trooper regalia and looking just as shiny as the day they left Kamino. (The twins had incinerated their original armor not long after. With the power cells still in them. That had been an interesting training mission.)

In place of the two critically injured 501st troopers, the speeder now carried the supplies they needed. Methos’s plan was definitely insane, there was no doubt about it. No wonder he wanted Thing 1 and Thing 2 for this; this was right up their alley.

Sever would be in charge of their high ground, a perch in a nearby tower. He’d have ten men, all the best shots in the Century, armed with an assortment of sniper rifles of rather mixed origin. Rime certainly seemed excited (as excited as Rime ever got, anyway) to try out his shiny new DC-17m in the field. He was the only one with a GAR BlasTech rifle, though. The rest of them, Sever included, wielded a motley collection of weapons that wouldn’t be out of place in a bounty hunter’s armory. That did not, however, make them any less effective, or deadly.

Led by Ochi, the majority of the clones, including the twenty or so able-bodied troopers from the 501st, lined windows on the upper floors of buildings on either side of the wide boulevard.

That left Methos, Thing 1, and Thing 2 to do their part, backed by ten men from the Century in very obvious GAR armor, hastily touched up with the 501st’s blue highlights for the sake of consistency. It wouldn’t do for the enemy to realize that they had new guests at the party, after all. (There were, of course, promises to remove the markings afterwards. Brothers were very proprietary about that sort of thing.)

Sever settled into position in the sniper’s nest with Rime, Snitch and the others and waited. Peering through his scope, he observed the progress Methos’s team made as they drew near the rear lines of the droid forces. In the distance, he saw the massive shield that protected the bulk of the Seppie forces as they marched slowly but implacably towards the even-more-distant GAR defenders. Methos had to make his move soon if there was to be any hope of drawing off the rear guard before the main force reached the Republic line.

As Sever watched, Methos turned around for a moment and gave him a thumbs-up.

“This is it, boys,” Sever said aloud, but even a brief glance would tell that his sniper team was already set, eyes fixed on distant targets through their own scopes. They were ready for this.

Then came the signal.

Methos and the clones burst into plain view of the marching clankers, three lightsabers igniting in the hands of the Jedi, Thing 1, and Thing 2. The twins had removed their buckets and were now wearing generic brown cloaks over their armor; as far as the relatively stupid battledroids were concerned, they had just been flanked by three Jedi and a fresh squad from the 501st. They didn’t process that two of the “Jedi” were actually holding the sabers _away_ from their bodies and had blasters in their free hands.

Not that it would’ve done the first rank any good, anyway. Their only warning of any danger came by way of a volley from the snipers, taking out the “officer” droids, followed by a rapid barrage from Methos’s squad.

Sever could just imagine the tinny shouts of “Look, Jedi! Blast them!” from the clankers as the fight began. Then came the carefully-orchestrated “retreat.” Covered by Sever and the snipers, Methos and the squad fell back towards the boulevard where the rest of the troopers lurked. Focused as he was on the droids, Sever missed the moment when the twins ducked out to ditch the cloaks, deactivate the lightsabers, and retrieve their buckets, but their part of the plan had already gone off without a hitch, aside from a glancing hit to Cabur’s shoulder. At least they hadn’t managed to chop off their own feet, or Methos’s.

Methos blocked bolt after bolt as his men lured the clanker rear guard away from the rest of the Seppie army, though it seemed for every droid Sever and his snipers blasted to scrap, two or three more would be there to take its place. Plus, from this angle and distance, there was little the snipers could do about the armored assault hover tanks.

Fortunately, that was why they had Gaffer. Combat engineers were a wonderful thing -- as long as they were on _your_ side.

The AATs and the droids inside discovered the trap all too late when their repulsorlift engines triggered the hidden electromagnetic landmines concealed in debris on the street. Limited range, but devastating effectiveness against droids when you could lure them into position.

Then Ochi and the rest opened fire, completing the ambush.

The droids were utterly bewildered by the sudden turn of events. What had seemed to them like a simple but necessary mop-up action had transformed instantly into a demolition derby, with blaster bolts raining down on them from every direction.

With the tanks completely immobilized and useless, the droids tried to counter with shielded droidekas, only to have them blasted mid-roll one after another by Sever’s snipers before they could get into position to fire back.

Methos and his squad, meanwhile, had taken cover and gleefully joined in the devastation. The Jedi seemed perfectly content to stay back and simply block any blaster bolts directed their way, rather than leaping into the fray, the better to avoid accidentally getting hit by friendly fire.

For what seemed like an eternity, Sever’s mind focused solely on targeting, aiming, firing, finding the next target. Until, abruptly, only shattered, smoking wreckage filled the street.

Next to Sever, Rime sat back and pulled off his bucket, his lips curling with satisfaction as he clapped a comradely hand on the shoulder of Snitch, who grinned back broadly after removing his own helmet.

“Did we just do that?” the other clone asked aloud.

“Oh, yeah. We just did that,” Rime assured him.

Sever allowed himself to revel momentarily in the emotional thrill, though there was a nagging voice that reminded him that they were lucky this time and were able to lead the enemy precisely where they needed to be to pull off the ambush.

 _Oh, kriff off_ , he told the voice. _We were also just that **good**._

But the battle wasn’t won yet. There was the tiny matter of the main force protected by the energy shield, drawing perilously close to the GAR line.

As if in answer to Sever’s thought, the sound of a distant explosion reached them… just in time for them to see the shield protecting the droid army vanish into nothingness. This was followed quickly by a swift series of further explosions: the 501st’s artillery wasted no time, it seemed, making short work of the now-vulnerable droids.

“Huh. That went pretty well, I think,” Sever remarked to no one in particular.


End file.
